


let's be honest, no one else can take me there

by MelikaElena



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fandom Trumps Hate, M/M, Modern AU, Monty Green is a Cutie and Everyone Knows It, Nathan Miller Loves that Monty is a Cutie but Hates that Everyone Knows It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-04
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-09-28 08:29:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10081484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelikaElena/pseuds/MelikaElena
Summary: Everyone says that Nathan Miller is trying to date him, but Monty Green isn't buying it, not when he's had a crush on Miller for months and it hasn't been reciprocated.There's only one thing to do: Get Over Nathan Miller and Move On.If only the person in question would stop trying to sabotage Monty's plan.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [katsumi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/katsumi/gifts).



> For Kat, for the Fandom Trumps Hate charity auction! Thanks for being super awesome and wonderful. I hope you enjoy :)

The guy at the bar is cute. Although, now that Monty thinks about it, cute is pretty inadequate. He’s just-- beyond, really. Sexy. _Cool_. Completely out of Monty’s league.

 

He should definitely stay away, but apparently the beer he’s consumed is fucking with his sense of self-preservation, because Monty stumbles over anyway, dropping down onto the stool next to him and blurts, “Do I know you?”

 

The pick-up line is lame. Like super lame, like, Monty wants-to-crawl-into-a-hole-and- _die_ lame, but he’s shocked to discover that it’s not just a line, it’s an honest question. He genuinely looks familiar, like they’ve met before.

 

Unsurprisingly, Bar Guy gives him a supremely unimpressed look and a little grunt as an answer.

 

Now, if Monty had any sort of self-preservation, that’s when he would call it quits, but he doesn’t, he can’t. Now he’s just curious (and drunk.) “That’s, um, I’m serious!” He protests, and he actually _points a finger at Bar Guy_. Is this what an out of body experience feels like? “You really do. Do you…” And then it comes to him. “Do you know Bellamy Blake, by chance?”

 

Bar Guy blinks. “Um. Depends on who’s asking.”

 

“Monty Green,” he says, sticking out his hand, _like a moron._ “I’m a friend of um, Bellamy’s girlfriend? Clarke?”

 

“Oh,” Bar Guy says, clearly surprised. He shakes Monty’s hand, and it’s all Monty can do to keep upright. “Yeah. I’m Nathan Miller. Guess you knew that.”  

 

“Not really,” Monty shrugs, desperately trying to keep it cool. “I mean, I’d heard some stories about you, and I saw you in some of Bellamy’s instagram photos, but he’s terrible at captions, so I never put two-and-two together. Wasn’t sure if you were, you know, _you._ ”

 

“I’m the guy who always comments, _fuck you, Blake,_ on those pictures,” Miller says dryly. “Not to mention basically his only friend.”

 

Monty laughs, hoping he can fake being nonchalant until he makes it (he’s never making it.) “Well, it’s nice to finally meet you.”

 

“It would’ve happened eventually,” Miller says. “I’m sure.”  

 

“True,” Monty looks thoughtful. “They’re getting kind of serious, I think. Bellamy and Clarke. Or like, they’re serious about each other.”

 

“I’ve met Clarke,” Miller says, “and Bellamy’s my best friend. I’m pretty sure they’re serious about everything they do.”

 

“ _Especially_ each other,” Monty says with a wink, before he can even think about it.  

 

Miller groans. “This is a thing _you_ do,” he says. “Isn’t it?”

 

“What?” Monty says lightly, the tips of his ears flushing under his hair. “Excellent jokes? You’ll get use to them. I’m sure Bellamy’s are all awful, too, and at least _mine_ aren’t exclusively history-related.”

 

Miller snorts. “You’ve got that right,” he says. “He has the humor of an 80-year-old.”

 

Monty makes a face. “Yeah, and Clarke’s into it,” he says. “But there’s someone for everyone, you know?”

 

This sobers up Miller a little bit, the stony face sliding back into place. “Yeah,” he says, glumly. “I know.”

 

Monty, sensing that perhaps this isn’t the topic, changes it to video games, which he heard from Bellamy that Miller played. They both get waters, relaxing into the conversation so much that they stay at the bar for _hours_ , one subject leading into the next, and it’s late and last-call when the conversation finally dies down.

 

When they finally quiet, both with smiles on their lips, Monty finds himself dragging his gaze to the bar top, where Miller’s hands are fidgeting with his glass. “So, um, I was wondering--” Monty begins.

 

At his words, Miller stands abruptly, waving the bartender over to close his tab. It’s obvious that he’s cut Monty off, even if he’s resolutely pretending like he didn’t hear him.

 

Monty’s startled, humiliated, and it’s all he can do not to immediately run. He’s not crazy, is he? He thought Miller felt it, too, the chemistry, the easy attraction. But they’re going to be seeing each other a lot more, he’s sure, due solely to Bellamy and Clarke. It’s not just time to fake it, he has to _make_ it.

 

“Have a good night,” Monty says, a little rueful, a little resigned, signaling for his own tab. If Miller’s going to pretend like he didn’t just try and ask him out, Monty won’t mention it either. “I’m sure we’ll see each other around.”

 

“Yeah,” Miller says, and to Monty’s intense relief he doesn’t seem like he even minds. “I’m sure we will.”

 

* * *

 

_Two Years Later_

 

The guy at the bar is cute. Pretty much his type-- little bit of scruff, nice eyes, relaxed. Confident. Smart. His worn-out jeans and soft t-shirt make him look approachable, not completely out of Monty’s league.

 

To Monty’s shock, the guy actually wants to try and _get_ into Monty’s league, “accidentally” bumping into him at the bar and chatting him up. It’s possible he’s straight, but Monty doesn’t think so, not with the amount of casual physical contact this guy is initiating. Straight guys are sort of scared of physical contact from the same sex, in his opinion. (Fuck the patriarchy and toxic masculinity.)

 

So yeah, he’s going for it; he’s _definitely_ going for it.

 

It’s of course when he decides this that out of the corner of his eye he sees Miller. He’s not doing anything special, just having a conversation with Clarke, but his hands are moving, and he’s got a big grin on his face. It’s unusual, though not unheard of, for Miller to express happiness like a normal person (usually while drunk). Monty wonders what he’s talking about.

 

 _No, focus,_ he tells himself sternly, focusing his attention back on Bar Guy (Harry? Henry? Shit, now he can’t even remember.) It's time to move on from his ridiculous infatuation with Miller. It’s been actual _years_ , for god’s sake, and Monty has more than accepted that Miller isn’t interested, first because he had just broken up with his long-term boyfriend, and then after that… well, he just isn’t. That’s how things go sometimes.

 

And it sucks because Miller is… well, everything Monty wants, really, in a way that Monty never would’ve anticipated. He always thought he’d end up with someone like Jasper-- male or female-- loud and boisterous and upbeat. But Miller’s the opposite, quiet and thoughtful and pretty damn grouchy. But he’s also smart and kind and generous, and he has the biggest heart, even if it’s covered up with layers of snark and bite.

 

Miller knows, _has known_ , about Monty’s crush on him, but never treated him differently, never said a word, and Monty appreciates it and hopes that he’s never made Miller uncomfortable in turn. He’s tried not to.

 

And now-- now he’s trying to eliminate that barrier between them once and for all. He’s moving on, and it’s scary as hell, but it feels good, too. Almost freeing. He doesn’t particularly enjoy having feelings for someone who will never have them back, after all.

 

So he re-focuses his attention back on Henry (sure, he’ll go with that,) and refuses to look at Miller at all.

 

It works for all of 15 minutes when he feels someone next to him, their side pressing into his back. He knows without looking behind him that it’s Miller.

 

He turns his head slightly. “You leaving?” He asks lightly, his eyes not moving from Henry, who tilts his head, a little confused.

 

He can feel Miller tense. “Uh, yeah,” he says, clearing his throat. “Been a long day.”

 

It’s a lie. Monty frowns; something must’ve happened between when he saw him laughing with Clarke to now. He turns more fully toward him. “You okay?” He asks lowly, trying to make eye contact.

 

Miller looks at him, and there’s something in his demeanor that reminds Monty of the night they first met. Something almost wistful. He opens his mouth, but then his eyes flicker over Monty’s shoulder. “Never mind,” he says. “I don’t-- enjoy your night, Monty.” He signs his check and leaves without another look.

 

Monty is suddenly furious; at Miller, at himself, at his stupid dumb-ass _feelings_. He turns back to Henry with a smile. “Sorry about that,” he says. “What were you saying?”

 

It takes him a little bit after Miller left, but Monty finds himself relaxing again as he talks to-- fuck, what was his name, again? Who cares; Monty is _going_ for it.

 

At least, until he sees the guy’s eyes get wide as he looks over Monty’s shoulder. Monty tenses, thinking that Miller came back, but the hand that claps his shoulder belongs to Bellamy.

 

Monty grins up at Bellamy. He’s drunk. “Hey, buddy,” he says, giving H-Dude a shrug. H-Dude looks a little stunned, which, Monty gets it; Bellamy _is_ hot. “How’s it going?”

 

“Sorry to interrupt,” Bellamy says, “but just wanted to check-- Miller left, right?”

 

Monty’s surprised. “Yeah, he didn’t tell you?” He says. He would assume that Miller knew that if Bellamy didn’t know where his friends were when they went out he would _freak_ out.

 

Bellamy shrugs. “It’s hit-or-miss,” he says. “That’s why I thought I’d check in with you.”

 

Monty makes a face. “Me?”

 

“Yeah, Miller always says goodbye to you when he leaves.” It’s his turn to give Monty a look. “You didn’t know that?”

 

“I…” Monty frowns, thinks. “No, I didn’t.”

 

Bellamy’s lips quirk. “He knows you’d worry.”

 

Monty is offended. “ _You_ worry!”

 

Bellamy laughs, not offended at all, the bastard. “Yeah, I do. I worry about _everyone._ You worry about _Miller_.”

 

Monty can’t even look at H-Dude. “I worry about other people, too!”

 

Bellamy shrugs. “Sure,” he says. “Anyway, that’s all I needed to know. See you!”

 

Monty’s stunned; he turns around and sees that H-Dude is gone, which, he can’t blame him. Not one, but two hot guys have completely, rudely distracted him from their conversation. Bellamy _cock-blocked_ him. “Jesus,” he mutters. He takes his beer and stumbles, still confused, over to where Clarke and Wells are sitting. “Bellamy cock-blocked me,” he says again, in wonder.

 

Wells raises his eyebrows; Clarke snorts into her drink. “I’m surprised he succeeded,” Clarke says dryly. “I feel like all of Bellamy’s plans backfire spectacularly.”

 

Wells rolls his eyes. “He got _you_ to go out with him, didn’t he?”

 

“Yeah, because I was rooting for him,” Clarke says primly. “I already _wanted_ to go out with him.”  

 

“Your logic is fool-proof,” Wells deadpans. He turns back to Monty. “Honestly, Bellamy should’ve left you alone, but maybe he saw that you weren’t really into that guy and needed an out.”

 

Monty frowns. “I was into him,” he insists.

 

“Were you?” Clarke says. “It _really_ looked like you weren’t.”

 

“F _uuuuuu_ ck,” Monty puts his head down on the table and then immediately regrets it. It's sticky. “I’m so fucking bad at this. I’m going to be alone forever.”

 

Clarke starts to pet his hair. She likes to do that when she’s drunk. “No, you’re not,” she says. “And I didn’t realize you were even looking!”

 

“I need to do this,” Monty mutters. “I need to get over Miller, once and for all. Like, a rehabilitation plan. ‘How to Get Over Nathan Miller in 10 Steps.’”

 

(It’s not like it’s a secret.)

 

Clarke and Wells exchange a look over Monty’s bowed head. “Uhhh, isn’t that a movie?” Wells asks tentatively.

 

“Close enough,” Clarke shrugs. “Listen, Monty, I am all aboard the Monty Gets a Significant Other train, but maybe you shouldn’t force it?”

 

“Fake it til you make it,” Monty shrugs. “I mean, it’s easy. I just need to spend less time with him; text him less; and flirt with a bunch of people until I get laid and/or fall in love with them instead.”

 

Clarke and Wells exchange another look. “Good luck with that,” Wells says. “I mean it. I don’t think it’ll, uh, be as easy as you think.”

 

“Obviously not,” Monty scowls. “If it were I would’ve accomplished it already.”

 

He goes home that night alone, drunk and tired and lonely. Flopping onto his bed, he sighs and wishes he didn’t _want_ so much. He can’t even remember what it’s like not to want Nathan Miller. And he’s tired of wanting what he will never have.

 

Tomorrow, he decides drowsily, he’ll start his plan.

 

* * *

 

It doesn’t help, of course, that it’s as though Miller can sense that Monty is about to set his Get Over Miller plan in motion because he texts Monty later that day, wondering if he would want to go to the Science Center that evening and check out a laser show that’s being put on with the Star Wars soundtrack.

 

So basically Monty’s ideal date.

 

**From Me**

I don’t understand why you got tickets to this in the first place???

I thought you were like Bellamy

No lasers, no newfangled, flashy things

 

**From Miller**

How dare you lump me in with him

I have an extra ticket

Are you coming or not

 

Monty resists the urge to put in a winky face. _No flirting,_ he tells himself sternly.

 

**From Me**

You don’t have to ask me twice

What time you want to meet there

 

**From Miller**

Why should we meet?

Waste of gas

Limited parking

 

**From Me**

Okay, grandpa, what do you suggest?

We walk nine miles in the snow

Like you did to school every day?

 

**From Miller**

No, asshole

Just take one car, not two

I pick you up

Seven work?

 

**From Me**

That’s acceptable

 

**From Miller**

Just acceptable?

What if we get something to eat beforehand

Does that sweeten the deal

 

Monty type something, pauses. Deletes. Frowns. What’s happening here?

 

**From Me**

That does help things

 

He pauses. Then, tentatively,

 

**From Me**

:)

 

**From Miller**

:) See you soon

 

Monty looks at the phone. Rubs his eyes. Looks again. Miller used a _smiley emoji_? Is he still drunk? Monty can’t think of any other reasonable answer as to why Miller would use that.

 

Did he wake up in an alternate universe? What’s even happening?

 

He calls Jasper. “It’s not working,” he says without preamble.

 

“Whaa.”

 

“Jasper, focus,” Monty says, completely unapologetic of the fact that he’s waking up his most-likely hungover best friend. “My Miller plan. It’s already in shambles.”

 

Jasper groans. Monty had been drunk texting Jasper about his Miller Plan the night before. “Did’ou prop’sition him?” he mumbles.

 

“No, _he_ called _me_! To do something! Tonight!”

 

A pause.

 

“Like…” Monty can nearly hear the wheels of Jasper’s brain turning. “Like a _date_?”

 

Monty snorts. “Definitely not,” he says. “But it’s _weird_ , right?”

 

Jasper hums. “I don’t know,” he says thoughtfully, awake and coherent now. “Recently, there have been times where I’ve thought… I don’t know. That maybe Miller has a crush on you.”

 

Monty runs a hand over his face. “Oh my god,” he groans. “I don’t even-- there are so many things wrong with this scenario. One, Miller _doesn’t_ have a crush on me, and two, I can’t even believe my best friend is on the phone, telling me he thinks that my _crush_ has a c _rush_ on me. Did something _happen_? Are we back in middle school again?”

 

“Well, Philip Pullman is coming out with another book, and Mariah Carey is constantly in the news, so maybe,” Jasper says. “But seriously. I haven’t said anything before, because I didn’t want you to get your hopes up, but now there’s more concrete evidence.”

 

“This isn’t evidence,” Monty says firmly. “Miller and I have hung out before.”

 

He can almost _see_ Jasper rolling his eyes. “Yeah,” Jasper says, “you have, but it’s never caused you to call me like this, now has it?”

 

Monty thinks about it for a moment. “I just needed you to tell me,” he says slowly, “that I shouldn’t get my hopes up.”

 

Jasper sighs. “Monty,” he says softly.

 

“I’m just tired,” Monty says. “I just want to be _over_ him. And find someone who likes me.”

 

“I know you do,” Jasper says. He’s been in unrequited love many times before. “And I want you to be happy. If it’s with Miller, if it’s not with Miller... that’s all, Monty. Don’t overthink tonight, okay? It’ll be fine.”

 

Monty could do that. Maybe. “I’ll try,” he says.

 

“Great,” Jasper yawns. “Okay, that was as much as I could take in this state. Talk to you later?”

 

Monty smiles. “Get some sleep, Jordan.”

 

“I’m t _rying_!”

 

* * *

 

The girl at the concession stand is cute. Long, honey blonde hair, great smile, and her t-shirt is from that tumblr blog where they put rap lyrics to famous art pieces, and Monty thinks that’s fucking awesome. It doesn’t help that she keeps glancing over at him shyly from the line parallel to his, clearly trying to think of something to say.

 

Miller’s in the bathroom, and Monty is furiously trying not to overthink things, but it’s difficult. After so many months of Not Being Interested in Monty, he just can’t believe that Miller woke up one day and was like, _jk, nvm._  Also, there’s something mildly humiliating at the idea that Miller is confident enough in knowing he could get Monty, even after months of not being interested, because he knows that Monty _is_.

 

So Monty does the opposite of overthinking and shoves Miller out of his mind and smiles at the girl instead. _This isn’t a date,_ he tells himself. _I’m not doing anything wrong._

 

Her name is Harper, she’s here with a friend, and she’s seen other laser shows, although not the Star Wars one. “Have you seen the Harry Potter one?” she asks, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear.

 

“This is my first,” Monty admits. “But that’s one I should see?”

 

“Totally,” she says, and Monty can _tell,_ she’s working up the courage to ask for his number, but her sight focuses on something behind his shoulder. “You’re here with a friend?” she says instead, even though Monty already told her that earlier, and Monty turns.

 

Coming towards them, his face a dark cloud, is Miller. Monty turns back to Harper, but he shifts his body so that his back isn’t to Miller anymore. “Yeah, that’s him,” he says, trying to sound casual. “Why?”

 

Harper’s eyes swing back to him. “He’s not looking at you as though you’re just friends,” she says, a little slyly.

 

“That’s news to me,” Monty says, a half-lie.

 

She opens her mouth to respond, but Miller’s at his elbow, and glowering at them both. “Sounds like we’re in for a treat tonight,” Monty says to Miller, before it gets too awkward. “Harper here’s an expert.”

 

Miller grunts something like, “Great,” but cordially enough shakes Harper’s hand.

 

“It was good to meet you, Monty,” Harper says. “Maybe I’ll see you around?”

 

It’s both vague and promising, and Monty knows he should get her number-- stick to the Plan! But instead he makes his own equally vague goodbyes, and turns to leave with Miller.

 

Out of curiosity, Monty looks back over his shoulder; Harper’s made her way back to her friend, whose gaze flickers to Monty in a way that indicates that _she’_ s about as pleased by Monty’s presence as Miller was Harper’s. _Huh. Pot, meet kettle._

 

Unfortunately, Miller catches the look, scowl growing deeper. “We could’ve stayed talking longer,” he said, jaw clenching. “If you wanted.” He looks like it physically hurt him to spit out the words.

 

Monty tries not to feel guilty. _This isn’t a date!_ He mostly succeeds. “It’s fine,” he says, shrugging. “We were just making conversation as we waited for popcorn.”

 

“She wanted you to ask her out,” Miller says bluntly.

 

“Looks like her _friend_ wanted to ask her out,” Monty deflects, not sure if he would’ve or not. “I think I’ll stay out of it.”

 

Miller’s quiet for a moment as they find their seats and get comfortable. “She probably doesn’t know,” he says finally, right before the show starts.

 

“Who?” Monty says absently.

 

“Harper,” Miller says. “She doesn’t know her friend’s into her.”

 

Monty’s hand clenches the arm rest. “Maybe,” he says, thinking of sleepless nights and restless, hopeless dreams. “People can usually tell.”

 

The show starts; there’s no time to say anything more, and afterwards, all they do is talk about the show. There’s no talk of Harper or her friend, or friends falling in love, and Miller doesn’t linger when he drops Monty off.

 

“It wasn’t a date,” he tells Jasper that night.

 

“Whatever you say,” Jasper responds. “If you _really_ didn’t think 100% it wasn’t a date, it wasn’t a date.”

 

Monty pauses. Okay, he can’t say with _100%_ certainty. The signs are too muddled. Point A: Between the time Monty saw him the night before and when he picked him up, Miller had gotten a haircut, trimmed his beard, and looked (and smelled) so _good._ Contradicting Point A: Miller always smells and looks good. And he gets a haircut and trims his beard regularly; assuming it was for Monty is arrogant and unfounded. Point B: They went to an actual restaurant for dinner instead of just some bar or a dollar pizza place. Contradicting Point B: They split the check; Miller did not indicate he was going to pay. (Contradicting the contradiction of Point B: Monty snapped up the check and didn’t give him the option either way.) Point C: Miller might have been jealous of Harper, indicating romantic feelings. Contradicting Point C: He just dropped Monty off at his door. Didn’t even leave the car, indicating platonic feelings.

 

“I can’t be sure it _was_ a date,” he finally says. “So logic says that it most likely wasn’t a date.”

 

“Monty, you hated logic classes in college,” Jasper says flatly. “But I’ll let you have this one.”

 

Monty groans. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m the worst.”

 

“Hey,” Jasper says, “before Maya, _I_ was the worst. And you listened to me so patiently every time. Don’t worry about it.”

 

Monty worries.

 

He worries even more when, the next day while at brunch with Bellamy and Clarke, Bellamy casually asks, “So how was last night?”

 

Monty blinks. “What?”

 

Bellamy frowns, slightly. “Last night? You and Miller went out, right?”

 

Now Monty frowns at his phrasing. “Yeah, we hung out,” he says slowly, deliberately. “… it was fun.”

 

“Yeah?” Bellamy asks, and Monty looks at him suspiciously. Clarke is in the bathroom and can’t interpret Bellamy’s weirdness for him. “That’s good.”

 

“I hope Miller had fun,” Monty says, trying to aim for the same flippancy as Bellamy. “I never thought a Star Wars laser show would be his thing, and he was, you know, his quiet self on the drive home.”

 

Bellamy shrugs. “Seemed like he had fun to me. He was home earlier than I thought he’d be, though.”

 

The two fall silent, eyeing the other as though they’re actually going to physically lash out at the other. _What the flying fuck is happening here?_ Monty thinks. “Am I…?” He squints at Bellamy. “Am I _missing something_?”

 

This confession breaks the ice, and Bellamy starts to laugh. “I’m just going to be honest with you,” he says. “You definitely are.”

 

“Well, fuck,” Monty says, leaning back in his chair. “Care to share what that is?”

 

“Share what?” Clarke says, coming back.

 

Both men startle. “Nothing,” Bellamy says, so smooth Monty can only blink at him. “Just telling Monty he’s missing out on Great British Bake-Off.”

 

So they’re not going to talk about it. Whatever. “I only want to watch baking shows _while_ I’m baked, if you know what I mean,” Monty says, and that gets Clarke going on a rant about which season is the best, and what a sleaze-ball Paul Hollywood is.

 

Monty means to bring it back up to Bellamy again, but they don’t get a moment alone for a while, and when they do, Monty’s already forgotten it.

 

It can’t mean what he thinks it does. It _can’t._

 

* * *

 

The thing is, if the night with Miller at the Science Center was a one-off, Monty _would_ actually stop worrying about it; would move on; would commence with the Plan; get the fuck over Miller.

 

It's not a one-off.

 

The next Thursday, he gets a text from Miller, asking if, Saturday morning, Monty wants to go see the new photography exhibit at the art museum-- he knows Monty used to like to photograph things a lot when he was younger, and even if Monty isn’t into it anymore he still likes looking at photos-- and Monty goes, meeting him at the museum. He assumes that Miller had asked Bellamy and Clarke, or whatever, because they both liked museums, but when he texts them about it, they both say Miller never texted them, and they have plans, anyway.

 

So to say he’s bemused when he meets Miller at the entrance to the museum is an understatement.

 

“Hey,” he says, giving Miller a small smile. 

 

“Hey,” Miller says, giving him one as well, and woo, man, the power of Nathan Miller’s smile never ceases to knock him off of his feet a little bit.

 

“Just us today?” Monty says as they go in, glancing over at Miller under his fringe. “Bellamy and Clarke didn’t want to come?”

 

Miller clears his throat. “Um,” he says. “I think they were busy.”

 

“You didn’t ask?”

 

Miller looks over at Monty, frowning. “Is that okay?” He says. “That they’re not here?”

 

Monty backs off, feeling a little guilty. “Yeah, no,” he says. “It’s fine. Just wondering. I figured-- Clarke and I would look at the photography and you and Bellamy would, you know, go find some Greek and Roman statues to moon over. I know that’s more your thing.”

 

They’re quiet for a little bit as they make their way to the exhibit, but then Miller says, as they reach the photos, “I asked you here-- and to, uh, Star Wars-- because I knew you’d like it. And yeah, those aren't really my things, but if you're good, I'm good. So don’t worry about me.”

 

It’s straightforward and sweet and so _Miller_ that Monty’s mouth is dry and he realizes, heart beating hard, that he really is so _fucked_ , because he doesn’t just have a crush on Miller--

 

He’s in love with him.  

 

“Okay,” Monty says quietly, despite the absolute _chaos_ he’s experiencing internally. “Thanks.”

 

Miller shrugs uncomfortably. “What are friends for?” He asks.

 

Monty’s stomach plummets. Stupid, _stupid_. “Yep,” he says clipped. “Exactly.”

 

It’s ridiculous, and Monty doesn’t even understand why, but the rest of their time in the museum is awkward, almost spoiled. Monty feels like he wants to crawl out of his own skin-- he can’t decide if he wants to be next to Miller, near him always, or just run the fuck away, jumping back into bed and curling into a fetal position, as if he can physically protect his heart.

 

It isn’t until they’re about to part ways and Monty thinks that he’s _finally_ in the clear that Miller says, almost desperately, “What are you doing tomorrow?”

 

Monty startles. “Um,” he says. “I’m not sure. I was thinking of maybe going to the bookstore. I haven’t read anything for fun lately.”

 

Miller lights up. “Oh, yeah?” He says. “Which one?”

 

“The one on Court street,” Monty says. Part of him wants to Stick to the Plan, end the conversation there, but the other half of him knows how much Miller loves bookstores. He already knows he's made up his mind, though: If his life were, like, a dystopian film, he’d be the first to die. He clearly has no sense of self-preservation. “You, uh, you wanna go?”

 

Now Miller’s hesitant. “If you don’t mind,” he says. “I don’t want to intrude--”

 

“No,” Monty says, because, _please_ , like he was going to say anything else. “Not at all.”

 

“Want to get something to eat before?” Miller says. “Or after. Make, uh, a day of it.”

 

Two days in a row with just Nathan Miller. He doesn’t even know whether to be happy about it or not. “Sure,” he says. “We’ll play it by ear.”

 

Miller smiles now, bright and relieved, the weird tension from earlier melted off. “Great,” he says. “See you tomorrow.”

 

Monty barely resists the urge to call all of his friends and beg someone to put him out of his misery.

 

The next day goes over better than the day before, a _lot_ better, so much better that it’s almost perfect: the sun is shining, they’ve got their sunglasses on as they sip on coffee and munch on pastries, walking down the block to the bookstore, where they browse for hours, Monty talking about what he likes to read and Miller pointing out suggestions. Sometimes Monty even tells Miller about something he read and Miller will promise to check it out. Their conversation is natural, easy, and it’s such an easy rhythm, a seamless give-and-take, and Monty feels that spark, that same one he felt the night they met, catch fire and flame up.

 

He doesn’t want to get his hopes up, and he doesn’t make any moves-- and neither does Miller-- but as they leave the bookstore and walk side by side, hands sometimes brushing, Monty is sure that if he reached over and grab Miller’s hand, he would thread his fingers through his and hold on.

 

* * *

 

Monty has a business trip the next week, and perhaps during that time he would’ve-- away from Miller and his friends-- talked himself out of whatever was blooming between them, but Miller, normally a sporadic and unreliable texter, texts Monty every day, and Monty, bewildered and pleased and overwhelmed, of course texts back. He has not thought of The Plan in days. 

 

**From Miller**

When do you come home again?

 

**From Me**

Thursday. It’s so far away

 

**From Miller**

Do you at least have Friday off?

 

**From Me**

Yeah, it’s my comp day

Thank god

I’m gonna sleep so much

 

**From Miller**

You should

You doing anything that night?

Or are you staying in

 

**From Me**

Hard to say

Why?

 

**From Miller**

Just wondering

If you wanted to hang out

We could go somewhere

Or stay in

 

Monty pauses. Staying in sounds tempting because, well, he wouldn’t have to _go_ anywhere, but he also has a mini panic-attack at the idea of staying in with _Miller_ . _Alone._ When things are already confusing as fuck, and Monty just wants to get some clarity but is too scared to ask for it.

 

**From Me**

We can go out

Somewhere

Did you have something in mind?

 

It takes a few minutes before Miller responds.

 

**From Miller**

My coworker is having a party

They’re cool people

It could be fun

 

Monty stares at the phone. Maybe what he told Jasper earlier was actually real… maybe they _did_ actually time travel back to high school. Is Nathan Miller actually asking him to go to a party together?

 

He leaves their text conversation and goes to another one.

 

**From Me**

If someone you’ve been hanging out with a lot

Asks you to go to a party with them

Is that more hanging out

Or is that a date?

H E L P

You’re the only person I trust with this

 

**From Clarke**

Me????

I’m flattered and also petrified

Ok ok ok I can do this

I would say it’s a date

 

**From Me**

Like, 100%????

 

**From Clarke**

Is it a party of mutual friends?

 

**From Me**

No, his coworkers

Never met any of them

 

**From Clarke**

Definitely date

 

**From Me**

You’re SURE

 

**From Clarke**

I mean, Idk this person but

Wait

Do I know this person????

WHO IS IT

 

Monty curses. He switches screens again.

 

**From Me**

If someone asks you to go to a party one of their coworkers is throwing

Is it a date

Be straight with me

 

**From Bellamy**

I will be bi with you, does that count

 

**From Me**

While you know that 99% of the time I love your sexuality puns, right now is not one of them!!!!!

 

**From Bellamy**

Judging from the way my girlfriend is trying to pull out her hair

I’m guessing you’re talking to her as well

Whatever her advice was I’m sure is fine

 

**From Me**

She doesn’t know who I’m talking about

You do

There’s a difference here

 

**From Bellamy**

No comment

 

**From Me**

I wouldn’t be asking you if I wasn’t desperate!!!!!

Fine

Keep his secrets and whatever weird mind games he’s playing

I’m just going to suffer

 

**From Bellamy**

Monty

What Clarke told you is FINE

Okay?

Promise

 

**From Me**

… Okay.

Thanks, Bellamy

 

**From Bellamy**

You’re welcome, Monty

 

He switches back to Clarke.

 

**From Me**

I’ll tell you soon, okay?

 

**From Clarke**

Is it Miller?

Monty?

MONTY????

I’m gonna make Bellamy tell me

 

Monty grins. _Good luck with that,_ he thinks, but doesn’t know if the thought is meant for Bellamy or Clarke. He turns back to his conversation with Miller.

 

**From Me**

Sure, that sounds fun

 

Miller responds almost instantly.

 

**From Miller**

Great

:)

 

* * *

 

The girl at the party is cute. It’s an objective fact, and Monty notes it matter-of-factly, but what _really_ causes him to start talking to her (besides the fact that they’re both getting another drink) is that he’s absolutely _fascinated_ with her hair. At first glance, it looks just like his-- black, silky smooth, but then she runs her fingers through it, and it’s a rainbow of colors. He can’t get over it. (He might be a little tipsy.)

 

“It’s called an oil slick,” she explains indulgently. “Cool, right?”

 

“That’s _awesome_ ,” Monty says emphatically. “How long did it take to do that?”

 

The girl winces. “A few hours,” she says. “With dark hair like ours, they have to bleach it first so that the color will come through. But my colorist is great, and I just bring magazines.”

 

“Who do you see?” Monty says. He thinks of Clarke and Raven bitching, recently, how their favorite colorist had left and they wanted a new one. Plus, maybe one day he’d do that with his hair. Why not?

 

The girl lights up. “Oh, man, she’s great,” she says. “Her name is Luna and her work is _sick._ ”

 

Both she and Monty pull out their phones so Monty can get Luna's info and that’s how Miller finds them, brows furrowed, looking even more pissed than he did when Monty was flirting with that girl at the Star Wars show.

 

“Jaina,” he nods to the girl, and then, without waiting for a response, swings to look at Monty. “Can we talk for a sec?”

 

Jaina and Monty exchange bewildered looks before Monty follows Miller, weaving in and out of the many people in the sizable apartment.

 

Monty’s not quite sure what’s happening-- he thought the night was going well, like _really_ well, and even though neither of them have said anything, he’s actually confident in believing this is a date.  

 

_Monty opened the door, surprised when he saw Miller standing there. “Hey!” he said, looking a little panicked. He was ready to go, but-- “I must’ve missed your text, I’m so sorry you had to come up here.”_

 

_Miller’s lips quirked. “I didn’t text you,” he said. “I just came up.”_

 

 _Monty blinked. “Oh,” he said. “Okay, well, let me just grab my coat.” Before he turned, Miller reached out from_ his _coat pocket and presented something to Monty._

 

_Monty reached out and took it, looking at Miller quizzically. “What’s this?” He looked at it. It was one of the books they had discussed a couple weeks prior at the bookstore, but Monty couldn’t find. “Oh!” he glanced back up at Miller, who couldn’t quite meet Monty’s gaze. “Thanks! This is awesome. Where did you find it?”_

 

_Miller shrugged. “Just a bookstore by my work,” he said. “I hope you like it.”_

 

 _“I’m sure I will,” Monty said warmly, putting the book on his entry way table. Taking another look at Miller, Monty was glad he opted to dress a little more nicely than he normally would for a house party. Miller always looked good, but Monty was a sucker for the collared shirt beneath a sweater look, and Miller was_ rocking _it._

 

_He never quite knew what sort of mood or vibe Miller would exude, but the car ride over was comfortable and easy, Miller talking about his coworkers-- who to talk to, who to watch out for-- and Monty relaxed._

 

_When they were a few minutes away, just listening to the radio, Miller took his hand off the gear and placed it over Monty’s, easy as anything._

 

_Monty’s stomach swooped._

 

_“Is this… okay?” Miller asked, his eye darting from the road to Monty._

 

_Monty over thinks and worries about a lot of things, but this was a no-brainer._

 

_“Yeah,” he said, turning his hand over and lacing his fingers with Miller’s. “It really is.”_

 

_Monty didn’t think he’d ever seen Miller smile so brightly._

 

The exact opposite of that expression, however, adorns Miller’s face now as they stop in a secluded corner of the hallway that Miller steered them towards. “What the hell, Monty?”

 

Monty racks his brain for what he could’ve possibly done wrong. “Is this about that story I told to Riley?” He says, of Miller’s co-worker. “The one where you and Bellamy got really drunk last year and did an impromptu performance of _Defying Gravity_ at that bar?”

 

“You _told_ him that story?” Miller gaped. “But no, that’s not what I meant.”

 

“Then what?” Monty says. “I thought we were having a good time, Nate.”

 

Now it’s Miller’s turn to blink at Monty, those long eyelashes almost hypnotizing. “What did you just call me?”

 

Monty flushes. “Oh, sorry,” he says. “Too soon?”

 

Miller shakes his head. “Nope,” he says succinctly, and like a flash he has one arm around Monty’s waist and another in his hair, and Monty nearly groans at the feeling of Nate kissing him, and it’s even _better_ than Monty imagined it would be, all soft lips and clever tongue, heat and tenderness, and Monty doesn’t want it to end.

 

Except-- “I don’t understand what’s happening here,” he gasps, pulling back. “What the hell is going on with _you,_ Nate?”

 

Nate pulls away completely, to Monty’s dismay, running his hand over his eyes. “I know,” he says. “But--” he pulls his hand away, looking at Monty almost miserably. “I can’t figure you out.”

 

Monty gapes at him. This might be the most ridiculous thing anyone’s ever said to him. “What do you mean?” 

 

Nate huffs. “I can’t tell if you like me,” he says, and Monty can’t believe he’s topped Most Ridiculous Statement in under five seconds. “I know-- I know at one point you used to, but I didn’t want to assume you still did, and I can’t tell. Sometimes I’m convinced you do… sometimes you look at me and I’m _sure_. But other times,” here he looks away, jaw clenched. “I see other people hitting on you, and you so willingly flirting back, and I-- I don’t know. Maybe it’s all in my head.”

 

Monty blinks. Thinks of Jaina. “You were jealous?” He says. “You thought--” his face twists up in distaste and hurt. “You thought I would come here with you and flirt with someone else?”

 

Nate looks at him a little guiltily, before his eyes dart away again. “I shouldn’t have thought that about tonight,” he admits. “But what about the other times? I feel like whenever we’re out together it’s like you’re a _magnet_ . And I wonder if you… if I’ve lost my chance. Of being with you.” He swallows. “And Bellamy might’ve told me that what I’ve been doing… what _we_ ’ve been doing, hasn’t been very clear, but I. I wanted to show you I was serious about this. About _you_.”

 

Monty is dumbstruck. He doesn’t know whether to laugh or to cry. So much wasted time, so many mixed signals and misunderstandings… “Everyone knows,” he says softly.

 

Nate looks straight at him, startled. “What?”

 

“Everyone knows,” Monty repeats, in a strong, sure voice, “that I’m crazy about you. I didn’t know you were the only one who didn’t know. And I’ve been trying to get over you because I was convinced you would never feel the same way.”

 

“You don’t have to do that anymore,” Nate says lowly, taking a step closer to him, “if you don’t want to.”

 

“I don’t,” Monty agrees emphatically, already reaching for him. “I really, really don’t.”

 

They’re both grinning into the kiss.

 

* * *

 

The guy at the bar is cute, although _cute_ is pretty inadequate, in Monty’s mind. Despite that, Monty slides onto the stool next to him, beer in hand, and gives him a wide smile. His favorite part about the guy is that he’s all his.

 

Nate smiles back.

  



End file.
